Page 43 of Always Almost You

“I wish I could introduce you to my nephew,” the woman continued. “He’s an architect. Lives in Los Angeles. About your age. One of the nicest men I know. He deserves a smart, sweet young woman like you.”

Lauren’s smile deepened, but there was something wistful in it. “That’s very kind,” she said. “But, for now, my life feels full.” She glanced at Pumpkin, sleeping peacefully by the loveseat, pink sweater rising and falling with each breath. “With my work,” she added, “and my dog.” She swallowed hard, knowing that there was still a small, stubborn part of her hoping for one more Christmas miracle.

CHAPTER 30

The bellman greeted Lauren and Pumpkin the next morning with a friendly wave. “Did your luggage arrive last night? It hadn’t by the time my shift ended.”

Lauren shook her head. “I spent half an hour on hold with the airline this morning. They finally located my suitcase … in Dallas.” She gave a rueful smile. “They’re rerouting it today and hoping it will reach me tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“Oh dear,” he said sympathetically. “Christmas Eve and Christmas? I wouldn’t rely on that.”

“I won’t,” Lauren replied. “Pumpkin and I are going to buy makeup and clothes to tide me over.”

Pumpkin wagged as if she approved of this plan.

The bellman reached for the heavy brass door handle but paused. “You explored near the wharf yesterday, didn’t you?”

“We did. There are plenty of T-shirt shops and a few clothing stores.”

“If you turn the other way when you exit, toward Spring Street instead of Thames, you’ll find more local boutiques. Newport residents shop on Spring rather than along Thames.”

“We’ll head there.” Lauren reached out and squeezed his elbow. “You’ve been a lifesaver.”

He opened the door, and they stepped into bright winter sunlight. The sky was clear, but the air carried a sharp bite. Within minutes, Lauren and Pumpkin were strolling along Spring Street. Unlike the tourist-heavy wharf, this stretch felt intimate and lived-in. Window boxes overflowed with pine boughs and red berries. Fresh wreaths hung from black iron brackets. Handwritten chalkboards outside shops read:

Hot Cocoa Inside

Holiday Sale — Today Only

Annual Spring Street Carolers Tonight

At the third boutique they passed, Lauren stopped short. The window display was a collage of Fair Isle cardigans and pullovers in vibrant jewel tones and sophisticated neutrals, hung from nearly invisible fishing line, floating like winter constellations, or draped across mannequins posed beside wooden sleds.

“I’ve always wanted a Fair Isle sweater,” she murmured to Pumpkin.

Pumpkin tugged toward the door as if to say, Obviously.

A bell chimed as they entered. A woman with silver-streaked hair sat behind the register, knitting. “Good morning,” she said warmly.

Lauren selected a pair of dark-wash jeans and tailored, black dress slacks from nearby racks before approaching the counter.

“I’ll start a fitting room for you,” the woman said. “If you need different sizes, I’ll bring them.”

“You have a beautiful shop,” Lauren replied.

“Are you local?”

“Visiting from California,” Lauren said. “The storm delayed my flight, and my suitcase decided to vacation in Texas instead of Rhode Island.”

The woman laughed. “Not ideal.”

“I don’t want to wear this sweater and jeans the entire trip.” She gestured toward the window. “Are the Fair Isle sweaters still available?”

“Only the ones in the display. Would you like to try any of them?”

“Yes, please.”

“You’re a small?”